Reality Crumbles Down
by Manya-Dono
Summary: SinJu, mPreg, light SinJa, mentions of rape. After incorrectly performing a spell to get to Sinbad, Judal receives results that are less than desirable. It's then that he ends up running from Kou and living with Yunan, of all people, as he tries to sort through the hodgepodge of chaos that is his life. Well, who needs reality anyway?
1. Act I, Prologue

**A story!** **Yes, that's right, I'm writing a multi-chapter story that I most likely won't finish. But let's enjoy the ride while it lasts, shall we?  
I know I could easily simply genderbend Judal and drop the mPreg warning for this story, but that wouldn't be as fun, would it?  
I apologize in advance for the length of the chapters. Truth be told, I've never written anything over 2K words.**

 **Anyways, enjoy~**

* * *

Sinbad should've _known_ something about Ja'far was off, right from the get-go.

Ja'far never acted like this, all slutty and scantily-clad with a smirk on his mouth and in his eyes. He was never the one to start their nights together - more often than not, Ja'far would tell Sinbad _no_ , that there's _work to be done._ So very rare were the moments that Ja'far cam to _him,_ desiring sex, that Sinbad almost forgot that it was possible for Ja'far to _want_ someone.

So when Ja'far came to Sinbad wearing significantly less than normal, asking for _him_ , Sinbad simply thought it was almost too good to be true.

That didn't change the fact that he _did_ , though. He stripped Ja'far and nailed him into the mattress, rough and strong and enjoying every second of it. It was during sex, however, that Sinbad should've noticed the second sign. Ja'far was never this _loud_. The general's moans usually came out in animalistic hisses and grunts, but this Ja'far used his _voice_ , loud and pleasured. But Sinbad was terribly noisy himself, and wasn't too busy paying attention to Ja'far's moans to notice, let alone care.

The next red flag might've been the odd feeling of the Rukh mixing together, how it was different from normal, or perhaps the metallic odor that clung to the general. It could've been just how much _worse_ at this than normal Ja'far was, or how _tight_ -

Really, it could have been a number of things.

But the first thing that the high king of Sindria really _noticed_ came in kissing the freckled man. He'd kissed magicians before - and, though not surprising, they always tasted vaguely of magic. Raw power had a sharp, metallic taste, almost _rusty_. Sinbad knew it well.

It's that metallic taste that's flooding Sinbad's mouth right now.

Ja'far is _no_ magician - not to mention that it's _strong_ , and now that he thinks about it, Ja'far's whole _body_ tasted like magic - and here is when Sinbad realizes that this _can't_ be Ja'far that he's just made love to.

He stares at the _fake,_ and now that he realizes that it's _there_ , he can see it. The pulsing, throbbing of an enchantment, or some form of spell, wrapped around the man's body. Sinbad would suspect as much, what with this imposter looking _exactly_ like his lover and first-class general. The king slowly shifts upward, and his hand get dangerously close to Focalor's vessel - the imposter _could_ be dangerous.

His loving gaze is gone, shifted to something else entirely, and suddenly the imposter _notices_ and bolts, grabbing the sheets and wrapping them around his torso. Sinbad aims to take a swipe at the man, but he's too quick. The man jumps out of the palace window - they're in _Sinbad's room_ , in the _tallest_ tower - and floats downward, and Sinbad realizes that he's been _played_.

Running a hand through amethyst locks, he tries to convince himself that nothing bad could come of this. It's just sex, after all. That person may very well have been some foolish female magician who'd heard tales of Sinbad the Lady Killer and wished for a taste of the action. The easiest way to get that would obviously be to disguise as the one that Sinbad's sworn his faithfulness to.

Exhausted and naked as the day he was born, Sinbad flops down onto his empty mattress - they took the _sheets_ , dammit - and wills himself to sleep.

* * *

 _*Sigh...*_

Judal's head is _throbbing_ , and he feels like an _idiot for_ being found out, for being sick all the way home, for not performing the spell correctly. He tries to think positive - at least it _worked_. His plan of losing his virginity to the king of Sindria went rather smoothly, save for the part where Sinbad realizes it's _him_.

Or did he? Judal isn't quite sure, he just knows the Sinbad knew he _wasn't_ Ja'far.

Just goes to show that you shouldn't mess with old magic - it was a spell called _Glamoré_ , designed to change one's appearance drastically until it looked exactly like that of someone else. In his case, Ja'far. It had been part of his elaborate plan to seduce Sinbad, and so he learned the spell and attempted to cast it upon himself - however, he performed the ritual incorrectly, and so today, he's feeling the after effects.

He'd been sick all morning.

Now Judal lays upon his messy bed, in his messy room, in the clean imperial palace of Kou. Nobody's bothered him yet today, and he's grateful for that - he does _not_ need anyone demanding where he was last night. Sure, Sinbad had been good, great even, but looking back on it _now_... It's terribly _embarrassing_.

Absentmindedly, he allows his thoughts to wander, and eventually they make their way back to Hakuryuu. Ah, Hakuryuu. There had been a time when Judal thought about losing his virginity to _him_ \- that thought, however, was quickly shot down upon the discovery that Hakuryuu is, undeniably, _straight_. It was a bit of a let-down, but Judal was _not_ the type to get worked up over a silly little crush, and so he forgot about Hakuryuu just as easily as he'd developed feelings for him in the first place.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. _Damn. Spoke too soon._

Judal begrudgingly gets up and greets whomever it is that seeks his attention - it's a servant of Al Sarmen. Gyokuen wants to see him. Judal really doesn't _want_ to perform any rituals - his stomach and head both ache terribly - but he'd be _damned_ if he was given any form of _choice_.

Instead of floating, Judal walks, which feels a little off; using the _Glamoré_ spell drained nearly _all_ of his Magoi, which isn't good if he's going to be used. In his mind, he works furiously to come up with some sort of excuse to tell Gyokuen, on why his Magoi is so weak today. Unfortunately, he's standing before the high queen herself before he can come up with anything that might work.

It takes Judal a moment to realize that he _isn't_ about to perform any sort of ritual - it's only him and Gyokuen in the small room, no one else. The queen's smile is light and mocking, and her voice is smoother than butter. "Judal-kun." She says it in mocking fondness. "Do you know why I've beckoned you here?"

 _I have a few ideas._

"It's because," She begins, walking up to the teenager and running her fingers through his velvety braid. Judal instantly tenses up, bracing himself to slapped, or hit. "your Rukh are different, somehow," Really? He hadn't felt that. "and your Magoi flow is slower. It's weaker. Do you have any idea why that may be?"

His cover up is truthful - almost. "It's because I used a hard spell to try and get to Sindria last night and trick the king." His voice cracks, and he clamps his mouth shut.

"Oh? And why, pray tell, did you wish to go to the kingdom of the First Class Singularity so late at night?"

"I wanted to kill him."

There's something in Gyokuen's eyes that Judal doesn't like _at all_. She studies his Rukh intently, focusing hard on the onyx butterflies that surrounds his being. Without making eye contact, she asks, "Oh? Did you now? I take it you weren't successful in your attempts."

Judal's about to speak, but she finally straightens her posture and looks him in the eyes. "Of _course_ you wouldn't. You're still too _weak_. That's why you failed in correctly casting whatever ancient spell you used on yourself."

"Y-You can tell?"

A faux smiled graces the high queen's porcelain features. "Of course. You don't think I know that effects of failing an enchantment? But don't worry; it's nothing to worry about - for _now_ , at least."

He's excused for the time being, and it's on the way back to his room when it _hits_. Walking past the kitchen causes a flood of inconsistent, varied scents to enter his nose and it's _disgusting_ , and he can't help it when bile surges back up through his throat and out onto the clean palace carpet. What's worse it that it still tastes of rancid magic, and it's like throwing up liquid rust. Judal stand back up, presses a hand against his gut, and runs out of the hallway, leaving his mess for the servants to clean up.

As he makes his way back to his room, he doesn't notice the one, miniscule white Rukh that trails behind him. The one that isn't his own.

* * *

 ** _Glamoré_ is a spell that I completely made up for the purpose of this story. It's a disguise spell.**


	2. Act I, Scene I

**Guys. I updated. _Hallelujah_.**

* * *

"Are you _seriously_ going to continue to stare at me as though I'm a hunk of meat, Sin?"

Ja'far's more-than-slightly-irritated voice brings the Sindrian king back to reality, and Sinbad folds a hand beneath his chin and hums. "I was simply imagining what you'd be like if you came to me, like that fake the other night. That's all."

Ja'far's expression turns bitter, and he huffs sourly. " _That_ is not relevant to any of the things you _should_ be thinking about right now."

Sinbad nods his head lazily and yawns, outstretching a muscular arm to wrap around Ja'far's warm shoulders, causing the freckled man to roll his eyes. If Ja'far _did_ act like that, though _-_ Oh, imagining it brought a certain part of Sinbad right to attention. It would be the _real_ Ja'far, much better in sex than that _fake_ , whomever that may have been.

Upon telling Ja'far of his escapade with the unknown sorcerer, Sinbad received quite the scolding, not to mention that Ja'far had panicked and asked to send out search parties for the sorcerer, to capture and kill them on sight. Sinbad was able to save the stranger's likely miserable life by informing Ja'far that it was _just sex_ \- it wasn't as though Sinbad had discussed Sindria's important military plans with them, or anything important like that. It was simply sex, and no more. And sex means nothing to a man like Sinbad.

Nothing at all.

"Sin, get _off_." Ja'far's exhausted tone brings his focus back to the pearl-haired man himself, who looks and sounds like an old nanny disciplining a naughty child. Ja'far clicks his tongue, and rummages through the papers the pile high on the high king's desk. "There are things we need to _discuss_ , things _besides_ your filthy sex life. You _whore_." The last bit is more in jest than anything, though contradictingly Ja'far's face is completely devoid of emotion.

Sinbad grabs a documents and scans its contents rather carelessly. "Right. The battle plans."

" _Sin_! This is _Kou_ we're talking about! All of their funding goes into their military, and if they _do_ so chose to send their navy on the way here, we'll have to be prepared! Don't take this so _lightly_!" Ja'far is _more_ than put-out, and he's _frustrated_ , because war is an _actual_ threat here and Sinbad just can't seem to get his mind out of the gutter.

But the amethyst-haired king stands up tall, and presses his hands palms-down firmly on the desk. "In no way am I taking this lightly, Ja'far. I am completely aware of the weapons Kou posses. A military of thousands. Al Sarmen. Dungeon Capturers. A _Magi_. I am currently buying my time while their forces are focused elsewhere. There are distractions in Balbaad."

"You're _stalling_?!"

"Preparing for war with an enemy of this magnitude takes _time_ , Ja'far. Assasin you may be, it sometimes better _not_ to kill the first moment you get the chance."

 _That_ is what sets the general off. There is an _agreement_ in place, see. After Sinbad's so-called _'saving'_ of Ja'far all those years ago, the man is most certainly _not_ to bring up his past, _let alone_ apply it to the present-day Ja'far.

" _Been_." The word is spat out harshly and angrily, and Ja'far has captured Sinbad's attention once again.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Assasin I may _have been_." It's voice thickly and heavily and _loudly_ , followed by a harsh, pissed-off glare on Ja'far's part.

Instead of apologizing, Sinbad plants a wet but small kiss on the general's nose. Ja'far's cheeks flare up bright bloody red, and, with a swift swirl of skirts and a _harrumph_ , he stomps off, leaving a smirking Sinbad in his wake.

A few corridors away, Yamuraiha and Sharrkan witness the scene.

"A lovers' spat. How typical for them." Yamuraiha states simply, sipping her tea.

Sharrkan shifts from his sitting position, crossing his left leg over his right, as opposed to the right-over-left position he had been in. "Yeah." He grins widely. "Good thing _we're_ not like that, though!"

Yamuraiha's eyes grow wide and cheeks red as she slams her teacup against it's tray roughly and loudly, turning her attention to Sharrkan completely. "W-We're not _lovers_!" She makes like Ja'far and dashes off, abandoning her colleague.

Sharrkan laughs.

* * *

"It's the First Class Singularity. There's no doubt about it." Ithnan confirms, his voice chillingly calm. His high queen cocks her head to the side, and smiles sweetly. Her eyes are malicious.

"Interesting. I already knew as much, of course, but how _odd_ that it's so _obvious_ that even the likes of _you_ can notice it." The insult is sharp, but it's nothing that Gyokuen wouldn't tell any other member of Al Sarmen. Even Judal himself has gotten quite the taste of her verbal abuse over the years. "How, I wonder," She muses. "did _our_ Magi end up with the First Class Singularity's Rukh all over himself?"

Ithnan _knows_ that Gyokuen already knows the answer, and so the question is rhetorical. She likely won't state it aloud, the answer being so _blindingly_ obvious that there isn't need to.

With a smirk Gyokuen gets up from her seated position; a swift movement that appears to be nothing more than a ripple in her long, elegant kimono skirts and then boom! - she's taller, standing in a way that makes Ithnan feel even _smaller_.

"The little _slut_." She spits out cruelly and nastily and she makes her way to the door, Rukh darker than fluttering pools of ink trailing in her wake.

Ithnan watches closely as a few men of Al Sarmen follow her at the wave of her hand. "What will you do?" He asks her, more out of curiosity than anything. Her business with the Magi can be hers alone, but he's willing to ask should she be willing to answer.

"I will _subjugate_ him."

Ithnan has the faintest idea what she means by that, and for a second, he pities their unfortunate Magi.

 _You have really damned yourself, haven't you?_

* * *

It's not the first morning he's been sick for awhile. It's been happening a _lot_ as of late, and with his recent headaches and stomach pains, Judal starts to wonder if he's come down with something.

He's been in and out of bed frequently this morning alone, but hasn't left his room in _days_. A little part of him had been surprised before when no one had come and made him perform rituals and the like, in fact, no one had been bothering him at _all_ , really, until Kougyoku sent her own maidservants to get him out of his room and into the fresh air.

Now here he is, fiercely keeping hold of his end of the blanket that Kougyoku's lady in waiting is trying to yank off of him. "Please, Magi! Milady requested that you get up, and talk to he-"

But sick as he is, Judal can't listen, not when his stomach suddenly jolts of his own accord and he heaves his stomach's contents out and onto the previously clean carpet. The lady in waiting watches him wretch with horrified eyes, and they melt into plain disgust as he wipes his mouth roughly with his arm and grabs his stomach afterwards. "... _Shit_." He mumbles, and groans.

A moment or so later he notices the servant starring at him like that, and his temper flares.

"GET OUT!" He shouts in a rage, standing up and hurling a pillow at the woman and she retreats, leaving him alone, again, in his stuffy room.

Magi aren't _supposed_ to get sick, Judal thinks, as he buries his head against a pillow. It's been like this ever since that _night_ with that _idiot_ king. Judal regrets ever deciding to try and sleep with him, especially after the utter _failure_ of things. It wasn't even what he _wanted_ , not _exactly_ , not when Sinbad moaned Ja'far's name as he-

Judal suppresses a shudder. It hurts to remember now. He had even gone through all that _work_ , just to get there, and still, _still_ he messes up the _damn spell_. It makes him wonder. Is his sickness _Glamoré_ 's work? Most likely. It's just _embarrassing_. He's a Magi, and still he messes up a spell? And a chant-spell, no less.

His thoughts are interrupted, however, by a rather familiar and sickening presence. Gyokuen's Rukh are sticky, thick and far, _far_ darker than his own, oozing like liquefied, airborne death itself through the cracks in the walls and under his door. The black butterflies themselves are enormous, slow and droopy, and they make these _sounds_ : low, pained wails that vibrate through his very bones.

Gyokuen herself appears next, accompanied by an entourage of Al Sarmen men. Gyokuen's looks are deceiving, to say the least. She's like a porcelain doll, with a tight smile so firmly in place that it's a wonder her lips don't _crack_. Her eyes are what move, though, and betray her true emotion. _Repulse_.

"Judal dear." Her voice is like oil but _thicker_ , and it rolls over him with its sweet tone.

HE doesn't grace the high queen with a response as her walks up to him, dangerously close, and she stares into his eyes darkly. There's a moment of calm, before the _crack_ of skin meeting skin ringing clear across the room.

Judal stumbles at the _hardness_ of Gyokuen's slap, and, embarrassing as it is, he lands on the ground. His cheek is red. "Filthy little _whore_. Disgusting _slut_." When spoken by this woman in this manner, the words _sting_ a little more than they should and they stick to him like the barbs of a harpoon.

"What a whiny little _bitch_ of a Magi I've raised! Ah - would you look at that? He's crying like a baby!"

Judal had failed to notice the tears that migrated down his face, and he rubs his cheek - the unharmed one - and notices that mascara has bled all over his face. Gyokuen continues on with the barrage of insults, until swiftly kicking him in the chest with force and _Shit_ , that hurts the _worst_ , it aches so much that Judal can't _help_ but howl at the pain.

As Judal collapses, a hand clutching his chest, the witch finally kneels down beside him with a disgusting, _sick_ sweet look plastered on her face. "So you wish to be dominated, my sweet? You want to be _fucked_?"

The next part happens in a blur. Gyokuen leaves, but the men _stay_ , and then they're _ontop_ of him, and their hands are _everywhere_ and his clothes are peeled off like the skin of a fruit, and he's _hurt, hurt, hurt_ , and this isn't like with _Sinbad_. This is _different_ , because they are _rough_ , and Judal is seeing red, red _all over_ as he is _hurt_ again, again, _again_ -

When he is messy, bruised, and bleeding, spread out flat with this dead look on his face, the men leave. The air is still, completely silent, and Judal just _can't_ , not anymore.

He's alone. It's well past midnight.

The only one to witness his weak, _pathetic_ weeping is the moon itself.

And it extends no arm in aid.


End file.
